To kiss you

I would like to
see from your eyes,
hear from your ears,
feel with your skin,
and kiss with your mouth.

I would like to
be the shadow that is born
from the soles of your feet
and that lengthens along the ground
upon which you walk.

I want to
be the water that bathes you,
the light that gives you form,
I wish that my substance
were your substance,
that your voice should come
out of my throat
so as to caress me from inside.

Frida Kahlo’s letter to Josep Bartolí, 20 October 1946.

43-Man Squamish

Penalties are applied for infractions
such as walling the Pritz,
icing on fifth snivel,
running with the mob,
rushing the season,
inability to face facts,
or sending the Dummy home early.

The game officials are a Probate Judge
dressed as a British judge, with wig,
a Field Representative
in a Scottish kilt,
a Head Cockswain
in long overcoat,
and a Baggage Smasher
dressed as a male beachgoer
in pre–World War I years.

Competitors wear gloves,
a helmet, and flippers.
They pursue the Pritz,
constructed from untreated ibex hide,
stuffed with blue jay feathers.

Play begins after a frullip
is touched to the flutney
and the recitation
Mi tío es enfermo,
pero la carretera es verde!

Most squamish games consist of seven Ogres,
unless of course, it rains.

From the rules for 43-man Squamish, conceived by Mad Magazine in 1965.

Hedgehogs foreknowledge of the wind

Trees buried in Winter;
World a Looking-Glass and Book.
Desire of gathering Riches has no Limits –
Life, many Ways to get rid of it.

Pleasures wheedle and caress
only to strangle us –
Kings and Coblers Souls
cast in the same Mold.

Books, immortal Children –
Counsel’s Strength consists in Time.
Word of Men, their only Tye on one another,
Dying for Fear of Death.

Entries in the index of Charles Cotton’s translation of Montaigne’s essays, 1685.

Outlined

Toward the Atlantic Ocean, Africa

The front of the human head cut off
at the shoulders and leaning forward to kiss

Europe, Thrace and the Black Sea regions

a young girl in a long dress

Britain, Scandinavia

who stretches her hand back
to attract a leaping cat.

Earth, the two oceans, the American continent

In the other half of Volva the brightness
is more widely diffused;

South America, Nicaragua, Yucatán, Popayán

you might call it the outline of a bell
hanging from a rope and swinging westward.

What lies above and below
can’t be likened to anything.

Somnium by Johannes Kepler, 1608.

Close enough to greatness

On floated a buzzed Garbo,
a browned-out Garland.
Elvises of every era
groped for their towels.

Here walked a plausible Oprah.
In came an ayatollah. And there,
lanky in her tankini—a Cher.
If the whole idea is to go

out of the world as late
and as happy as possible,
you could do worse
than die on a megaliner.

You would have left knowing
how a crowd surrenders
when a man stands before
them as Frank Sinatra.

From Wish You Were Her, n+1.

How we decided we were machines ourselves

Stephen Hawking was in trouble. Another
man wasn’t sure that the world existed.
Every day he heard loud, terrifying
screams inside his head. His bodyguard said

he spent evenings staring at the wall.
Apparently impossible things were
happening all the time: The President
of Turkmenistan was determined to give

his horse to Britain; Leila the elephant
visiting a psychiatric community’s
Christmas party, inflating a giraffe.
He locked his wife in a cupboard and watched

Citizen Kane again and again.
Human beings will always betray you.
Now there was nothing for the dolphins
to do, he would be their creature.

From No Context Adam Curtis Intertitles.

When we are asleep

The moon is shining, though heavy clouds cover her.
One can see the row of small ships silhouetted
in front and behind us against the grey sea.
And so we sail on towards Caen. You, my angel,

sleep gently in the nursery. A long line
of flares hangs over Cherbourg. Funny to imagine
that there Germans run around their guns.
The engine of our boat rocks and rattles.

With me sleep three officers; how childlike
and natural we look when we are asleep.
The air is free of aeroplanes. The best
we can do now is listen to the wireless.

I hope that Andrew’s golden head
rests gently upon his small pillow.
My eyes become wet when I think of you;
I can imagine how you listen to the news.

From Captain Alastair Bannerman’s diary entry on D-Day, 6 June 1944.